The Egg of the Phoenix
by Wicked-Wytch
Summary: First year Draco Malfoy is in for a shock when he finds that he's been sorted into the wrong house. Chapter 2: In which we see an eavesdropping house elf, Malfoy Manor, a frisky statue, and Draco realizes he's got some red on him. RR
1. Chapter 1

"Egg of the Phoenix"

Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix.

**Christina Baldwin**

Chapter 1

We all have big changes in our lives that are more or less a second chance.

- **Harrison Ford**

As the group of nervous eleven- and twelve-year-olds was herded towards the front of the main hall, Draco Malfoy felt as though a gulf was separating him from the rest of his peers. He looked around, finding himself staring into wide, almost fearful eyes. The girl who stood beside him, the one with two large front teeth and bushy hair, seemed to be suppressing shivers of anticipation. The chubby boy behind him was trying his best to quiet the bubble of nervous laughter that was just barely escaping his throat.

The sorting was about to begin. Within moments, each of the first year students would be put into their houses; and ultimately, depending on which house, the stage would be set for their next seven years.

Unlike the others around him, Draco felt smug as the group came to a halt in front of the staff table and the four-legged stool was set down in front of the young students. He alone seemed confident about the sorting. He alone did not flinch as the first name was called to the front. And, in his mind, he was sure what would happen once the large faded hat was placed upon his head – he would be sorted into Slytherin.

It was, his father had always told him, a house of nobility, of pure blood, and of his ancestors. To Draco's knowledge, all the young Malfoys before him had been sorted into the House whose symbol was the cunning snake. It made sense then that he would follow those footprints that had been laid before him.

It wasn't about choice to Draco; there was no other alternative to Slytherin. The concept of being in another house had not even crossed his mind during the wildest of daydreams. His father had indoctrinated into him the fact that Slytherin was best and all the others were for the second (and third) class. It was all in terms of black and white to the young, blond boy. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were sorted into Slytherin house. There was nothing else to it.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

His name was called, jolting him from his thoughts. The small blond boy didn't hesitate. Instead, he seemed to strut forward, nodding at the two acquaintances he'd known even before receiving his invitation to Hogwarts - two large boys named Crabbe and Goyle. They'd never exactly been close, but they'd spent a few afternoons together, growing up. Their fathers' connections had obviously brought them together on occasion, though none of them had ever been very talkative with each other as children. But now that they were at Hogwarts, it was pretty much a given that the two of them would be at his every beckoned call, given that he was of course, a Malfoy. Draco had the feeling that these two would be just the type of friends that would prove worthwhile in school. They had little brains between the two of them, but were large and hulking enough to intimidate even the bravest and nosiest of students. Things were looking up.

Draco didn't need instruction. He hopped onto the stool with as much grace and dignity that he could muster and awaited the sensation of the ancient bit of cloth being placed upon his head. He didn't have to wait long.

The world before his eyes went completely black and for a moment Draco felt an odd sense of disorientation. The crowded hall, which had been full of murmuring just seconds ago, fell into a deep hush. And from that quiet a voice, deep and old, emerged. It was odd and Draco had the faint feeling that maybe this was what those mad people who spoke to themselves heard all of the time. He was suddenly grateful for his sanity.

"Hmm," the hat spoke without a voice, "How interesting. Smart enough... cunning... what potential you have..."

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Draco questioned impatiently, "You don't need to debate or figure anything out. Slytherin. I'm to be in Slytherin."

"Are you really?" The voice inquired, the hint of amusement in it forcing Draco's mouth into a frown. "I am not so sure, young Malfoy. I can see it in your head. You're ready for Slytherin but I think you'd do well in another house. Maybe better."

"Another house?" Draco felt his confidence waver for a moment as the slightest edge of panic started to nibble its way into his mind. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he was to be sorted into another house. Just the prospect of his father's wrath made him tremble slightly.

"Yes. You're bright enough to be sorted into Ravenclaw... there's a good mind on you, though you seem to be neglecting the pursuit of intellect." The fact that he'd just been insulted by a hat registered in Draco's mind, but he could not react; the hat was continuing in its little speech. "You'd be horrid in Hufflepuff. Not much of a hard worker, are you? Barely lifted a finger since the day you were born. The way children are spoiled these days..."

"Hey!"

"Sorting you into Gryffindor... now that's an interesting thought."

Draco's eyes widened in the darkness. "Gryffindor? The house of Mudbloods and Muggle lovers? I'd sooner be home schooled. By my mother!"

"I'm sure of it," the hat announced. "Yes. No more debate. It's going to be... GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a smattering of applause as the hat was lifted from Draco's head, but the boy didn't hear it. He also did not hear Professor McGonagall's voice as she instructed him to the table at the far side of the room. The only voice he even barely acknowledged was the small one in the back of his head, the one that was purely logical that reminded him - quite adamantly - to breathe. Breathing, it assured him, was quite necessary and important in moments like these when the world was spinning a bit too quickly.

"Mr. Malfoy," Minerva McGonagall repeated for the third time, somewhat annoyed, "if you'd please make your way to the Gryffindor table, we do have others that need to be sorted."

This all had to be some sort of sick joke. Maybe this was his father's way of getting back at him for last week's incident at Borgin & Burkes'. After a blank pause, Draco nodded. Yes. His father would jump out from behind a curtain or from underneath a table at any moment now.

Except there was no sign of Lucuis Malfoy anywhere; no clink of a silver cane rapping against cold stone, no sound of cruel laughter in the distance.

"There must be some mistake," Draco said in a high voice that sounded nothing like his own. "Gryffindor? I can't be..."

"Yes, yes," Professor McGonagall was forcing herself to not yell at the small boy. There was a very tight-lipped expression on her face, one that was meant to look like a smile but failed miserably. "It's a cause for shock and celebration. I'm sure you're quite proud of yourself." She took a step forward as she spoke and reached out for the boy. Taking him by the arm, she got him off the stool and onto the path toward the Gryffindor table where a large amount of students were looking at him curiously. "Be proud of yourself over there, with the rest of your housemates," McGonagall said irritably, before moving back to the front of the room and calling out another name.

Draco found himself sitting in a seat and being clapped on the back by strangers without knowing how he walked himself all the way down the aisle. He was feeling quite dumbfounded. There are, they say, five stages of grief that people experience when going through something traumatic. The first is shock and denial. Draco found himself wallowing in this stage when he caught his first glance of his housemates. Up and down the table he saw smiling faces, red hair, and deep red banners with golden lions roaring mightily. These were not his friends. This was not his table. And those were certainly not his colors.

Draco banged his head against the table and let it rest against the cool wood. This could not be happening. He was having a nightmare. The worst kind of nightmare he'd ever experienced.

"Your name's Draco, innit?" a small voice from across the table said somewhat nervously.

Draco raised his head enough to glare at the boy who'd spoken to him. As he made this swift movement, he went from the first stage of grief to the second: anger. "What do you want?"

"Oh," the boy shuffled back into his seat and seemed to shrink, which was no small task, since he was a rather chubby boy. "I just wanted to say congratulations. Glad to have made it into Gryffindor; my gran wouldn't have seen it any other way." At this, Draco almost tasted his own bitterness on his tongue. "Anyway, my name's Neville. Just wanted to introduce myself..." He trailed off abruptly and looked down at his hands then, finally noticing the dark look in Draco's eyes.

For a moment, he considered reaching over the table and smacking the boy. Had not the whole student body and faculty been around, he probably would have. But instead, simply sat back and let his hands ball into fists. Draco was not in the mood to be surrounded by these people.

"Potter, Harry."

The rest of the school turned its attention to the young boy with dark hair and brilliant green eyes as he walked to the stool and had that damn overly opinionated hat placed onto his head. Draco closed his eyes, weary of what was to come. If he was to share the same house with Harry Potter, he was quite sure that he would be disowned within five minutes of his father learning the news.

When the word "GRYFFINDOR," echoed through the hall, the students around him cheered and burst out in applause. It was so loud that no one noticed Draco burying his face in his hands and groaning loudly. In Draco's mind, there was no possible way that this day could get any bloody worse.

---

Unfortunately, it did get worse. Draco sat on the edge of his bed, still wide-eyed and wordless – he hadn't said a thing since the Feast began, despite the overall friendliness of the Gryffindors. He hadn't even said anything when he was told that he'd be sharing a room in the dormitory with that Neville boy, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Ron Weasley and Harry bloody Potter. Of course, he hadn't really known much about the former three, but those last two…

"Me dad's a Muggle, and Mum's a witch," Seamus was saying with a rather obnoxiously thick Irish accent. "It was a bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out, you can imagine." i Half-blood scum /i , Draco thought, as the other boys chuckled and nodded their heads.

A dark-skinned boy – Dean – piped up next. "Well, both of my parents are Muggles," he said, immediately eliciting a hateful glare from Draco that went unnoticed by the rest of the room's occupants. "At least the Hogwarts letter offered an explanation for eleven years of weird stuff." The laughter could not drown out the i filthy Mudblood /i sign flashing neon in Draco's mind.

"What about you, Neville?" Ron Weasley asked, shifting his weight on his bottom bunk bed.

Draco glanced at the friendly, nervous chubby boy just in time to notice what seemed like a flash of sadness and discomfort in his face. But it was just that – a flash. Neville cleared his throat. "Pure blood," he said. i Waste of it, that's for sure. /i "But, I, uh…I live with my gran. She'll be really happy I'm in Gryffindor."

"I know what you mean," said Ron, running a hand through famous red hair. "All my family – for centuries – has been in Gryffindor. Can't imagine being sorted into Slytherin or something." At this, Draco looked up, catching Ron's eyes. i That /i remark, of course, had been deliberate. The Malfoys had never got on well with the Weasleys, pure bloods though they were. i Blood traitors /i , Draco thought, i the lot of them /i They held the stare for a moment longer than what the other boys thought necessary – it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable though. Between the two young wizards there seemed a wordless connection of animosity. They hadn't known each other formally for more than fifteen minutes, and surely this was the first time they'd ever really spoken together, but the feud that had been passed onto them from their fathers had placed an automatic rift between them that couldn't have felt more natural.

"Harry," Seamus finally said with a small cough. Ron and Draco both blinked and turned their heads to the new subject of attention. Ron smiled brightly; Draco's eyed narrowed so that they were practically closed.

"Oh, don't bother asking for his life story," said Neville brightly. "We all know about him." Harry turned pink.

"I don't," Dean interjected with a furrowed brow. "Tell me."

"Well, um…" Harry stammered.

"He defeated i the Dark Lord /i ," Draco sneered. Everyone turned to look at him, unsure whether to be frightened at the mention of the Dark wizard or surprised at the name that the pale boy had used. Draco stared intently at Harry and continued with false admiration. "There's no i worthy /i witch or wizard who doesn't know him – The Boy Who Lived, the only one who ever survived an attack from the Dark Lord. When he set out to kill, he killed, but for Potter here. And nobody knows how he did it, eh, Potter?"

"Wicked, Harry," Dean marveled as Harry's face flushed even more. Ron and Seamus were glaring sharply at Draco while Neville bit his lip.

"Yeah, quite wicked," Draco mocked. "Left him with that great ugly scar on his head, too." He rolled his eyes. "Oh, and parentless."

Ron jumped to his feet and pointed his wand at the offender. "What are i you /i going to do, i Weasley /i ?" Draco asked as a hateful smile twisted on his face. "You don't know any Unforgiveables."

"Neither do you!" Ron retorted. Draco smirked. The rest of the group shuffled about uncomfortably. Dean and Harry weren't even sure what 'Unforgiveables' were.

Draco scoffed. "You obviously don't know anything about me either."

"I know you don't belong here, i Malfoy /i ," said Ron, lowering the wand slowly.

"Well, there's one thing we can all agree on, can't we?" Draco said angrily, looking around at the other boys. They remained quiet and clearly wary. i Gryffindor courage, I'm sure. /i "I know very well that I don't belong here – not in this house full of Mudbloods and near Squibs and Muggle-lovers. Everyone here knows that I should be in Slytherin, even that bloody hat."

"Then why'd it sort you here?" Seamus asked defiantly.

"I'll give you all that answer tomorrow, after I talk to Dumbledore and clear up this confusion. With any luck, none of you will be sleeping near me tomorrow night."

"With any luck," Harry mumbled. Draco, of course, glared.

---

It wasn't long before Draco Malfoy stormed out of the dormitory, sneering at each boy as he left. Harry Potter noted the chill in the room that lasted a good ten minutes after the boy had gone. He had a bad effect on people, that Malfoy did, especially on Ron. Harry hadn't known Ron for very long, but could tell he wasn't the type to argue with somebody for no good reason. Around Draco, Ron seemed a totally different person.

Thrown into this new world of magic, Harry was immensely curious. It seemed like everyone knew something about the wizarding world. He was starving to understand things. This is why once he felt the room temperature return to normal, Harry felt safe to ask questions.

"What's with him - Draco, I mean?"

"I could spend a few days explaining it to you," Ron said grimly, his blue eyes full of loathing. "But I'd doubt we'd even scratch the surface."

"Do you two know each other?" After Harry asked the question, he realized that the other three boys in the dormitory seemed to quiet and listen in on the conversation. They were just as curious about Draco as he was.

"My dad works with his dad. He's a real git, from what I hear. One of those nutters who believes that the only real wizard is a pure-blooded wizard. It's a load of rubbish if you ask me."

"Why'd he get sorted into Gryffindor?" Neville was the one to ask this question, though he didn't really expect an answer.

"No bloody idea," Ron said quickly, "But I'm pretty sure that even he is surprised about it. I mean, I doubt there's ever been anyone more suited for Slytherin." Having taken a look over at the Slytherin table during the feast, Harry couldn't agree more. Draco not only had the attitude, but he had that snobbish look of Slytherin too.

"It's weird, though," Neville said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, hopefully he's transferred out of here tonight," Ron shook his head at Draco's empty bed and the multitude of expensive looking green leather suitcases that were piled in front of it. They put his own second-hand cases to shame. "Slimy git. Sleeping in the same room as him will give me nightmares."

Harry couldn't agree more, but shrugged lightly. He could tell that talking about Draco angered Ron, so he steered the conversation elsewhere. "So what do you think classes will be like tomorrow?"

"I don't know exactly," Ron responded as the other boys listened. "But from what my twin brothers have told me, Potions is going to be wicked…"

---

An hour after his argument with Ron, Draco found himself in an empty common room. Most of the other students had gone straight to bed after stuffing themselves with dinner and deserts. The ones who hadn't been ready for sleep had spent the time to get to know the people they'd be dorming with. Draco, of course, hadn't really bothered. These Gryffindors weren't his housemates and he really had no desire to get to know any in the bunch. All of them seemed a terrible waste of space, most of all, Harry Potter. Someone that powerful should have been more cautious about who he friended. So, after having a quick spat with Ronald Weasel-bee, Draco had left his dormitory for a more quiet setting.

Quickly, Draco put aside the cruel voice in the back of his head that repeatedly put down his housemates. It was a voice that Draco enjoyed listening to greatly, but there was a time and place for everything - this was not it. There was, he told himself, a task to be done. It was of the utmost importance that he get it done as quickly as possible.

"Dear Father,"

The boy ran a hand through his slick blond hair and stared down at the parchment, considering his next move. Those first two words were easy; it was the rest of the letter that would be hell to write. Almost absentmindedly, the boy twirled his quill between two fingers.

Lucius Malfoy was an easily readable man. After spending his eleven years of life sharing meals and his spare time with his father, Draco had come to know how Lucius would react to most any situation. His father was rather easy to deal with if he just tolerated the verbal abuse and then said the right words, or acted in just the right way. That considered, Draco had no idea how his father would take the news of the sorting.

"Dear Father," Draco imagined himself scribbling onto the paper, "I know you've been waiting for my letter to learn of this afternoon's events. It's been a i terrific /i day, to say the least. I've been sorted into Gryffindor house. Had dinner beside Harry Potter (yes, that Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived) and was asked to pass the potatoes to Arthur Weasley's youngest son. I declined, of course, because I was afraid I'd have caught some of his fleas. I share a dormitory with a half-blooded boy named Seamus Finnigan who has the most intolerable accent. Then, there's a fat idiot by the name of Longbottom. He's lost his pet toad three times today alone. And there is also a mud-blood named Dean Thomas. He sleeps in the bed beside mine. Disgusting, I know. Just wanted to let you know. –Draco."

A small, wicked smile curled Draco's lip. The sadist inside of him could only barely fathom the look on Lucius Malfoy's face if he ever read something like that. Surely, the man would suffer from heart failure after reading the last sentence. And because of this, Draco was half tempted to write his letter out just like that.

But, in reality, Draco was well aware of the fact that if he ever did send his father such a letter, he'd probably be disgraced, disowned, and all traces that Draco Malfoy had ever been a part of the Malfoy family would disappear. His father was like that; a cruel kind of man without a real sense of humor. To Draco, it was both an honor and a burden to be the man's son.

"Dear Father," stared up at the boy, nearly taunting him. This letter wanted to be completed and was nearly daring Draco to finish it. Though he doubted highly that paper had any thoughts or feelings, Draco suspected that it was a masochistic bit of parchment - why else would it want to be finished and sent to a man who would surely tear it to bits once he'd finished reading it?

"Let's just get this done," Draco muttered quietly to himself.

He held the expensive, rather elegant eagle feather quill steady in his hand before scratching out a letter.

"Dear Father," it began, "There's been some sort of mix up. The sorting hat has placed me in Gryffindor house instead of Slytherin. It's obvious that I'm not meant for this place. I'll be speaking to the Headmaster first thing in the morning to be switched. Should go off without any problems. I'll handle this ridiculousness. Even the stupid gits here realize that I'm meant for the greatness of Slytherin. Doubt even the fool Dumbledore will try to argue. I was wondering if you could pull some strings - just to be sure that everything gets taken care of (just in case). Hopefully, by tomorrow evening, everything will be fixed. No need to worry."

He paused and read the letter over three times. By the time he'd finished, he knew that it didn't sound right. After reading this, Draco was sure he father would be livid. He would call Draco a fool and tell him he was a coward who relied solely on his father's high status to fix every problem for him. But it couldn't be helped. Draco couldn't think of any other way to soften the news.

"Tell mother I'm fine and not to worry about me," he added in an afterthought. "I'll write you back as soon as there's news. –Draco."

The boy sat back and sighed heavily. He wasn't looking forward to the response he'd receive. But, he thought hopefully, by tomorrow he'd have everything fixed. He'd wake up early and first find Professor McGonagall and then speak with Headmaster Dumbledore. He doubted that either would put up much of a fight against his request to switch; he was, after all, a Malfoy, and that carried some weight in the wizarding world.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled up the parchment and stood up. He would have to navigate around the castle until he found the owlery, but this task was welcome; Draco would enjoy a long walk, maybe he'd even get himself lost on the way back. Anything that kept him from the Gryffindors was welcomed.

The small boy stood up and nodded at the fire that was roaring in the fireplace. "Tomorrow this whole thing will be cleared up," he said mostly to himself, "Crabbe and Goyle will be listening to me as I tell them how damn ugly the Gryffindor common room is. This will all just be a bad memory that I will eventually forget."

It was a nice thing to believe. But as Draco climbed out of the portrait hole, he felt an ominous sense of foreboding overcome him. Try as he might to be positive, a small voice in the back of his head was telling him that nothing in life is ever really that easy.

---

**Author's Note:**

Thank you so much for reading.

This fic was the creation of a friend and I who, being bored one summer day, decided that we should try our hand at a fic together. We scoured the internet for ideas until one day we found a random HP fic challenge. It said, "Put Draco into another house." There were no rules and it sounded like such a wonderful idea. We could completely reinvent the HP universe and turn it upside down!

We had lots of fun doing this and plan to add a lot more chapters together (and since we're writing it together… we'll be sure to keep each other on track and writing).

We're very enthusiastic about this (writing fic is always lots of fun).

Please review… it helps us write faster when we know people like this and read it. Reviewers motivate so much!

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

"**Egg of the Phoenix"**

Chapter 2: In which a house-elf eavesdrops, a statue gets fresh, a Headmaster offers candy and Draco realizes he's got some red on him.

"We do what we must, Lucien. Sometimes we can choose the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all."

**-Neil Gaiman**

There were some things that Dobby the house-elf just knew. Very small creatures, if they were careful and quiet and sly enough, could pick up on many secrets that lingered in the shadows of old houses. Dobby knew that it was dangerous to test his master's patience. But when big things were happening in Malfoy Manor, he couldn't contain his curiosity. Later on, Dobby reasoned as he played with his bat-like ears, he would punish himself for being a bad house-elf. When the Master wasn't around, he would iron his hands or kick the stove until his largest toe ached with pain. It was worth it to know sometimes. It was only a small act of defiance that he would later punish himself for. But in spite of this, something small and rebellious (and probably stupid) in the back of Dobby's mind reveled in the fact that he could do little things to disobey his abusive Master.

"We should have sent the boy to Durmstrang!" At the sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice, Dobby flinched. It wasn't that Lucius' voice was louder or angrier than normal that jolted the house-elf. It was that the man seemed much too calm. There was an angry growl in Lucius' voice, but he was forcing it back and quieting it as best he could. The worst of punishments came when Master was not in a rage, but disturbingly calm. It was when Lucius' voice was low and cruel that the worst things happened. The small house-elf, without even realizing, looked around the hallway to make sure that no one saw him. Dobby toyed with the dirty pillowcase he used as a shirt and hobbled nervously on his thin legs. There was no one else in the house to catch him, but a paranoid fear had saved Dobby more than once in the past. Those Malfoys were a sneaky bunch of Very Bad people, after all. He feared what his master would do if he came out of his study and saw him there, crouching low and playing with a tea cozy just a few feet from the door.

"Lucius, he's just a little boy!" the angry voice of Narcissa Malfoy responded. "I won't see him sent out of the country."

_Oh,_ Dobby thought, _Master's speaking about_ him. _No wonder he's angry,_ It seemed that the Master was almost always angry when _he_ was the subject of a conversation.

"He's a Malfoy!" There was a bang and Dobby imagined that his Master must have slammed his cane against a desk or a book self. He always did that when he was especially upset and he thought no one important was watching. Lucius was always calm when someone else (someone who mattered) was looking, but Dobby knew just how his Master could lose his patience when he was alone. "With our name comes a certain amount of honor. A legacy. I won't have the boy destroy it now by being sorted into…" he stopped as if the word stuck in his throat and left a bad taste in his mouth. "Gryffindor." Lucius paused. Dobby held his breath. "Do you realize what everyone will be saying once the word gets out that _our son_ has been sorted into _that_ house? That _our son_ sleeps in the same room as Arthur Weasley's son!" He sighed, "That damn boy can't do anything right. And if we need to send him out of the country so that we won't have to face the shame…"

"Don't you talk about Draco like that!" Narcissa, Dobby thought, was very brave to stand up to the Master of the Manor like that. Only few others would even think of doing so. She was a bad woman, that Narcissa Malfoy, but she was the only person who could ever get away with speaking to her husband in that manner and tone. "He's our son!"

"He's nothing but trouble," Lucius responded calmly. He took a deep breath and tried to contain his fury. "I won't see him bring shame to this house and this family."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll have to speak with Dumbledore and make him see how much to his advantage it would be to transfer our son," there was a slight tremble in Lucius' voice as he mentioned the name of the Hogwarts Headmaster. But it was so small that neither Dobby who was listening carefully outside, nor Narcissa who was watching her husband noticed. "Old fool won't have a choice but to put our boy in Slytherin."

"And if that doesn't work?" Narcissa's arms were crossed over her chest.

"It will," Lucius said. _It had to_, was what he thought but didn't say.

---

Dobby had gotten up to do chores soon after the Master and Mistress of the house had begun to wrap up their conversation. The small house-elf had the feeling that nothing else of great consequence would be shared between the two. Narcissa had left Lucius' study shortly after Dobby had relocated to the kitchen. There'd been a quickness to her steps that told Dobby that the Lord and Lady of the Manor would continue fighting later on. Silence had filled the house soon after; which was the normal for Malfoy Manor but still uncomfortable to Dobby after years of servitude. It seemed that young Master Malfoy was in trouble, though, and that was enough to send Dobby into a quiet fit of giggles once he was safely out of earshot of the Master and Mistress.

The house-elf didn't rest for very long. Dobby was used to ceaseless amounts of hard labor. Time and time again, he'd have to do one small chore followed by some complicated task that made little sense. More often than not, when Lucius was in a bad mood, Dobby would be found doing something extremely strenuous that was somewhat unnecessary. Lucius always seemed to have one job or another for his house-elf to do.

It was while Dobby was on the kitchen floor, scrubbing smooth stone that he heard the tapping. Being used to a regular inflow of owl delivered mail, Dobby was not surprised by the noise. The small creature jumped up from his spot on the floor quickly, surprisingly agile for so small a being, and opened the kitchen window with a slight push. A large grey owl fluttered into the room and passed Dobby without as much as an acknowledgement of the house-elf's presence. The bird, Dobby noticed, was unfamiliar and somewhat ruffled around the edges. The creature looked a bit old and weathered. In one talon it held a bit of parchment. There was a seal on the letter, but Dobby couldn't make it out. It looked a bit like a crest, but the bird moved too fast for him to be certain.

Dobby shrugged, accustomed to this sort of thing, and watched silently as the owl flew down the hallway and straight for Lucius' study. He didn't know why, but for a moment, the house-elf swallowed loudly and took a deep breath. It was as if he was preparing himself for Something Very Bad that was about to happen. Noticing suddenly that the bird was molting, Dobby ran after it, picking up stray soft feathers that fell to the floor. There weren't many, but if the Master saw even the slightest spot of dust in his home, he'd be terribly angry. And already, Lucius was in a bad mood from the news he'd received from Draco earlier.

Dobby knocked on the Master's door and opened it, letting the owl in. The house-elf knew better than to enter the room unasked. Instead, he simply stood outside quietly, waiting for the owl to leave. Dobby watched out of the corner of his eyes as Lucius snatched the bird out of the air. It squawked in protest and attempted to peck at Lucius' fingers, but the Master had released it quickly. He held the envelope in his hands for a moment, clenching his jaw when he saw the seal. He opened it slowly and neatly, with an air of artificial calm that Dobby knew only too well. Dobby watched silently as the Master read the letter. It had to have been very short, for his eyes had gone back to the top again at least three times before his face became as red as Dobby had ever seen it. The knuckles of the hand that was still clutching his cane were white. The house elf knew what was coming. He backed away quickly but quietly and on his way back to the kitchen heard the sharp banging sound of the Master's cane hitting something. Twice. Dobby shuddered as he bent down to continue his scrubbing. It was going to be a very long day for him.

---

Draco had been the last person in Gryffindor tower to fall asleep the night of the sorting, and he was very sure that he was the first one awake the next morning. He probably would have waited for the riff raff to leave before he even stopped pretending to be asleep had he not had a very important mission in his mind: He _had_ to get to Dumbledore _immediately_ and solve this wretched problem. It was so early when he rose that he could barely see the clothes he was putting on for the darkness. After a bit of trouble and a few close calls with waking up others in the room, Draco had managed to dress himself with as much dignity as he could muster and quietly made his way out of the portrait hole into the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room. As the portrait of a fat woman closed lazily behind him and he started off down the hall, he realized with a jolt that he had no clue where Dumbledore's office was. This was a big castle – a big, _magical_ castle in which staircases moved of their own volition and paintings talked to their viewers and a poltergeist liked to throw things at passersby – and Draco, who had only just arrived last night, was searching only for _one specific room_ at dark thirty in the morning, alone. Suddenly his mission seemed quite a bit more hopeless than it already had.

Sighing resignedly, he decided to press his luck and simply wander, hoping he came upon the headmaster's office, or at least something that would give him a clue as to where that office was located. Taking a staircase to the floor below, he passed a painting of a goldfish that was performing impressive acrobatics in a bowl that Draco suspected held only half of the water it had held to begin with. Dismissing a curious question as to whether a painting fish could die, he continued to walk. At least half an hour later - during which a suit of armor had tried to stab him and a statue of a very frisky-looking witch had attempted to pull his robes right off of him - he found himself back in front of the fat lady in the portrait. He stood there for a few minutes - quiet, so as to not awaken the woman - tapping his foot impatiently, looking around, refusing to give in to cruel fate and go back to his - the thought disgusted him - _bed_. He had just decided that he would be just fine with staying out here until breakfast started when the portrait swung open.

Jumping backward so it didn't hit him in the face, it took a him a moment to realize that Professor McGonagall was standing in front of him with a bit of shock mixed with her usual stern expression. "Mr. Malfoy!" she exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing outside your tower this early in the morning? And on your first full day!"

"I..." Draco swallowed. Of course, McGonagall could help him! Why hadn't he thought of this sooner? "I was trying to find Professor Dumbledore's office. I need to speak with him. It's--"

"Urgent, yes," finished McGonagall. She absentmindedly smoothed her hair to the tight bun fastened atop her head. "I admit, I'm not surprised." She sighed and looked at Draco's currently expressionless face. "Yes, come along, Mr. Malfoy, I'll show you to his office. I suppose he'll be expecting you as well." Draco could barely hide his smug smile as he followed McGonagall down the hallway.

---

"Licorice wand," said McGonagall. Draco watched as a gargoyle jumped out of the way. McGonagall waved a hand to the stairs and told him not to miss breakfast, then turned and left. Draco could still hear her heels clicking against the stone as he climbed the staircase to Dumbledore's office. Coming upon a large wooden door, he hesitated briefly before tapping lightly. The door, which he supposed had already been open, was pushed by his menial efforts to reveal more of the room behind it. Unsure of what to do next, Draco slipped his pointy face into the office and saw Dumbledore at his desk, not only fully dressed but also looking completely awake. Dumbledore looked up at Draco and smiled kindly. "Yes, I wondered how long it would be until you came to see me, Draco. Come in, come in."

Draco obeyed, closing the door behind him before he crossed the room and took a seat opposite Dumbledore at his desk. The headmaster pushed a bowl toward him. "Peppermint toad, Draco?" Draco looked down at the bowl and noticed that its contents - tiny toads colored like peppermints - were bouncing about rather excitedly, looking up at him. Wanting to show utmost courtesy to Dumbledore given his reason for being there, he politely took one and swallowed. Across the desk, Dumbledore smiled at the boy's mildly surprised expression. "Yes, they do hop rather realistically, don't they? Good bit of magic for Honeyduke, I must give him that."

Draco smiled politely and nodded, taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself to give Dumbledore a grand speech as to why there had obviously been a mistake. It took the blond boy just a few seconds to get all of his points together; he had already practiced what he would say to Dumbledore as he had wandered the halls of Hogwarts. Still, there was a nervous feeling settling in his stomach and it had little to do with the candy he'd just swallowed that was hopping around in there.

Draco looked around Dumbledore's office for a moment, eyes scanning the room to see a great many pictures of men and women staring down at him. Some of them seemed friendly enough, waving as his eyes passed over them. Others glanced down at him, still sleepy and barely interested. Some gave him ugly glares.

"They are the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained, an easygoing look in his eye. "There is no doubt that I will, one day, join this group of admirable wizards and witches." There was a strange twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes but Draco couldn't even begin to understand what it meant. He would have no time to decipher it, either because it was at that moment that a beautiful sound filled the room. "Ah, Fawkes," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Good morning."

Draco watched wide eyed as the Headmaster's phoenix woke from slumber. It was singing a song that filled Draco's body. The sound seemed to reverberate in the room and sink into his skin. It was beautiful, he thought as he sat and watched it. Never before had he seen a real, live phoenix and part of him doubted what he was actually seeing. Phoenixes were extremely rare creatures. He didn't know why, but sitting there and looking around at the phoenix and the portraits and the great many other odd looking magical objects, Draco suddenly felt very small.

"Fawkes," Dumbledore spoke softly, "is indeed a phoenix." It was as if the Headmaster could read Draco's thoughts and it was unsettling to the boy.

"It's very," Draco searched for a word that wouldn't sound stupid, "elegant," his voice fell.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, smiling brightly. He reached out to the creature and ran two fingers gently down its back. The Headmaster took a deep breath then. "So, Draco, I am sure I already know what brings you here, but why don't you tell me with your own words?"

Draco looked at him and did his best to ignore the toad in his stomach, whose jumping was thankfully dying down a bit by now. "Sir...it seems that I've been put into the wrong house."

"I see," said Dumbledore, adjusting his spectacles. "Might I inquire as to what put you under that particular impression?"

"I'm a _Malfoy_, sir," Draco said, as if this should have answered and solved everything. And really, he thought, it should have, from the beginning. "_You_ know that I come from a very long, respectable line of Slytherins. But...your hat sorted me into Gryffindor yesterday." Dumbledore nodded simply, as if pressing Draco to continue, which Draco thought was utterly unnecessary. "There's got to be a mistake, sir. I'm _meant_ for Slytherin."

Dumbledore was silent for a few moments, but his eyes never stopped twinkling as they stared at Draco's pale face. The boy was a bit disconcerted by this, but he nevertheless kept his eyes on the professor. It was something his father had been teaching him since he could remember - maintaining eye contact. _"It's a very important yet oft forgotten element, Draco," Lucius would remind him before meeting new people, cane in hand and sneer already painted on his face, "to getting one's way."_

Finally, after what seemed like hours to Draco, Dumbledore spoke. "The Sorting Hat cannot see bloodline, nor can it see the future. The Hat sees only what lies in its wearer's head, all of it. When the Hat was placed on your head, Draco, it saw all of the thoughts in your mind of which you are already aware, as well as those that lie untouched by you in your mind's deepest recesses. It saw the opinions that you believe you hold along with those that you truly hold. The Sorting Hat has seen in you what you have not yet seen in yourself." Draco was not sure what to think or say of this. He was hardly sure of what he was even hearing.

"But," Draco stammered slightly. This wasn't going how he expected, "I don't _want_ to be in Gryffindor. I was _born_ for Slytherin. It's what I'm meant to be." By the end of this sentence, Draco's voice was barely above a whisper.

Professor Dumbledore smiled again at the sight of Draco's mouth hanging slightly open. Their gazes never left one another's. "There is a difference, Draco, between what one is _born_ to be and what one _will_ be. Sometimes we get to choose the path we are meant to walk. But other times, the path is set before our feet. Not everyone is given a choice as to where they begin. But it is what we do once we are on a set path that defines who we are. The choices that one makes will constitute that difference. That is what the Hat sees. That is why you were sorted as you were. That is why you are a Gryffindor."

Draco flinched at the name. Finally finding his voice, he stammered, "Professor, surely there's a way...I mean, I can't...maybe I could put the Hat on again? Perhaps it was...not up to par when it was on my head before...can't I try to be re-sorted, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed in a smile - _always that bloody smile_, Draco thought bitterly. _It's demeaning._ "The act of being sorted under the Hat comprises a binding magical contract. The Sorting Hat cannot sit on the same head twice."

Draco couldn't believe it. Dumbledore was telling him that he would have to stay in Gryffindor, that he had no choice in the matter, that there was nothing either of them could do..."Professor," he started, grasping desperately at an old stand-by, "my father will no doubt--"

"I have already sent an owl to your father, Draco," said Dumbledore. "I have explained everything. You need not worry about him. He can do no more than you or I at this time." The consistent twinkling in the headmaster's eyes was beginning to make Draco's own eyes water with irritation. Draco swallowed and clenched his jaw, biting down his surging anger and disbelief; the last thing he needed was to lose control of his temper in the Headmaster's office. "Breakfast will be starting momentarily, Draco. Surely you'll want to go down to eat. I certainly do." Draco stared blankly at him. There was a bit of comfort in letting his features go blank, in putting his own feelings aside. It gave Draco the illusion of control, and at the moment this was just what he needed. _Breakfast. Right._ Draco pursed his lips and gave a singular nod before concisely thanking Dumbledore for seeing him so early. Excusing himself, he started the silent, boiling angry journey to the Great Hall, wondering what his father was thinking at this very moment and how long it would be before he knew for sure.

---

Draco made his way to breakfast in somewhat of a haze. When he found himself sitting at the Gryffindor table beside other first year students who were greedily stuffing themselves with food, Draco only wondered in a distant, detached way how he had managed to navigate himself from Dumbledore's office to the Great Hall. There was a voice in the back of Draco's head and Draco was quite sure that it was screaming. The boy pushed it aside, though. He needed to maintain his control over his emotions. At least, until he was alone.

"'Mornin'," an older Gryffindor cheerfully greeted a silent, stony-faced Draco. "Oi," the older student was looking at Draco curiously, "Y'allright? Look like you've just been sick."

"I'm fine," Draco snapped, his anger reaching a breaking point. The older student, noticing the way Draco's skin was starting to turn a slightly pink color, shook his head at this and turned his attention elsewhere.

Draco, not feeling extremely hungry, only took a few small bites of banger and played with it for a solid fifteen minutes before bringing a fork to his mouth. The boy was still in disbelief from his meeting with Dumbledore. It hadn't gone at all as planned and suddenly, as if waking from a dream, Draco realized what it all meant. The Headmaster had been quite clear; Draco would not be able to be resorted. There was no going back. He would be a Gryffindor. Until, of course, Lucius caught wind of the situation. Draco paled at that thought. He wondered if Lucius would disown him or if he'd be pulled out of school. Maybe Lucius would send him out of the country, to some foreign school. Durmstrang had looked pretty good. Maybe, Draco thought, (if he was very lucky) Lucius would simply kill him for disgracing the family. That would put things in order neatly and save Draco a lot of trouble.

Draco turned then, to look at the Slytherin table. Robed in shades of green, the Slytherin students seemed to be miles away from the Gryffindor table. Draco stared longingly at them for a long while, just wondering what it'd be like if he sat there with them. He was, of course, roused from his daydreams by a voice.

"Mr. Malfoy," Minerva McGonagall sounded as though she were at the end of her rope. "If you would please wake up and take your schedule! I haven't all day!"

Draco jumped slightly and gave the woman a sour look. He took the bit of parchment that she was holding out to him and inspected it, not even acknowledging her as she strode down the hall to other students.

"What classes do you have then?" A small voice from across the table asked him.

"Excuse me?" Draco glared. He looked up from his schedule to see a girl staring at him. She had puffy brown hair and two rather large front teeth. She reminded Draco a bit of a mouse.

"I said, what classes do you have?" The girl was looking down at her schedule. "I was wondering if all Gryffindors have the same schedule." Without much warning, the girl snatched the paper from Draco's hand and inspected it. Draco, not used to this kind of treatment, blinked for a moment before baring his teeth at her.

"Give that back, you filthy Gryffindor!"

"Filthy Gryffindor?" The girl's eyebrow arched superiorly, but she looked a bit puzzled. "_You're_ a Gryffindor as well, you know. Or did you purchase the wrong robes?" At this, Draco looked down at his tie and found, to his disbelief, that he was wearing a Gryffindor tie. Also to his surprise was the fact that his robe now proudly bore the Gryffindor crest on his chest. The boy blinked for a moment, realizing that just the night before, his clothing had all been the color of Slytherin house, green and silver. Some kind of magic must have changed this. The girl, noting the surprise on Draco's face smiled smugly. Draco wanted to tell her that, yes, in fact, he was very much at the wrong table. He also wanted very much to add to this statement that he desired to throw his neighbor's eggs at her mousy face. But she proceeded then, to ignore him and scan the paper. "Yes, just like it said in _Hogwarts, A History_," she mumbled, mostly to herself. "Same classes." She tisked. "Too bad. I was really hoping I'd be able to sneak in some advanced classes. Everything's beginner level. I would have enjoyed Astronomy. Maybe next year."

It was Draco's turn to snatch his schedule from the girl's hands. "Don't do that again," he said darkly.

The girl's eyebrows furrowed now. "Are you Draco Malfoy?'

"What's it to you?"

"There's been a rumor going around about a stuck up blond boy who was missorted. I'm thinking you're him."

Draco swelled a little with pride at the fact that his name was already well known. For a moment, it made him forget the nagging image of his father wringing his neck in shame. "I am. And I have been missorted." He paused before adding, "Who the bloody hell are you?"

"Hermione Granger," the girl said, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Oh," Draco smiled evilly, "Think I've heard your name going about too… an annoying little know it all who can't keep her nose out of everyone else's business." Draco, of course, hadn't really heard any such rumor. He hadn't spent enough time around his housemates to be able to hear the latest gossip. Though Draco thought himself to be telling a lie, word of Hermione Granger and her propensity for being an insufferable know-it-all actually _was_ spreading throughout the Gryffindor student body like wildfire.

Hermione made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded as though she were about to protest. But instead, she simply lifted her head high and gave Draco a look of pure venom. In a voice that was just a bit too high, she said, "Guess I'll see you in class, then." She didn't wait for a response. Hermione picked up her things and left quickly, nearly bouncing down the hallway. Draco watched her go silently.

Draco, feeling rather morose and not in the mood to examine his schedule (with was full of classes that would be shared with _Hufflepuffs_ for Merlin's sake), turned his attention back to the half-eaten banger on his plate. His taste really was much higher than anything that was being served along the table. The boy idly played with his food and twirled his fork in his fingers. It was then that the owl post came.

Draco knew, as soon as the slick looking eagle owl swooped over the Gryffindor table, that he was about to receive a letter. He wasn't particularly looking forward to it. Draco knew that his father would be beyond furious, especially if Dumbledore had explained the news.

Right on cue, a small black envelope fell into Draco's lap. It was sealed with a silver wax and the Malfoy crest. Draco ripped it open and read immediately, wanting to get the worst of it over with and also wanting to know what kind of instructions his father had for him.

_Draco_, the letter read, _Do nothing for now. I will take care of this as best I can. _ Draco could hear his father's voice reading the letter to him. He could hear the scorn and the sneer in Lucius' words. Draco could also tell that his father had been restraining himself from writing "_you stupid fool_" or "_you shameful excuse for a son_" or something similar at the end of each sentence. The boy tried his best to keep an emotionless face as he got through the letter.

"Um… Draco?"

"What is it?" Draco snarled, turning his attention away from the letter for a moment to see a rather chubby face staring at him. "What the hell do you want, Longbottom?" Draco's voice was unnaturally high and strained.

Neville looked afraid. "Well… I just wanted to- um- let you know…"

"What!"

"Class is going to begin soon," Neville, of course had spoken so quickly that it had come out in a squeak, "Classisgoingtobeginsoon."

"Fine!" Draco responded coldly, "Fine! I don't care!"

"'Kay," Neville said softly before bolting out of the room. Draco watched him run out, his schoolbag clenched tightly in his chubby hands. Neville passed a group of Slytherin students who paused to point and laugh at the messy looking boy. For a moment, Draco wished desperately to be part of the Slytherin group. Neville pushed through the doors of the Great Hall awkwardly, nearly dropping his bag and sending the Slytherin group into a fit of laughter. This would make two that Draco had driven out of the Great Hall. He wondered, by the end of the year, how many else would he drive away.

Once alone again, Draco buried his hot face into his cool hands. There was so much going on and so much to do. Even though he'd been missorted (and Draco would not give up on the belief that he'd been missorted) there were still classes to be taken and homework to be done. Draco would have to take Herbology, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions alongside the incompetents of Gryffindor. If he was truly unfortunate, he'd have to become partners with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Just this thought caused Draco to pale. "It's going to be a long week," he mumbled to himself. "A very long week."

"Oh yes!" Nearly Headless Nick, who'd just happened to float by Draco at this moment stopped and smiled jovially, "What a lovely long week we've got ahead of us!"

In response, Draco only groaned.

---

**Author's Note:**

Thank you for reading and thanks to the good folks who reviewed Chapter 1!

My partner in crime and I love reviews and thoughts about our writing, so please do take a moment to leave a thought or critique.

We really love writing this fic and have a good time coming up with everything.

Please stay tuned for Chapter 3, which we've already started and is guaranteed to be a very interesting and funny read!

Please make note that this fic is also being posted on Livejournal:

(Take out the spaces!)

http/ www.livejournal .com/community/ theacjshow/7 715.html?style mine#cutid1

We'll probably update this a bit faster and might eventually move it completely onto LJ.

Again, thanks for reading!


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